


Lost

by PaulHeymanGirl



Series: And Eternal I Endure [1]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Hair-pulling, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-13 22:06:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2166885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaulHeymanGirl/pseuds/PaulHeymanGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set days after Elimination Chamber 2014 and Shield's battle against the Wyatt Family and Dean's post-match disappearance.  A late night together leads to Seth realizing Dean may have lost more than just the match that night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost

Seth doesn’t actually hear anything until Wednesday night.

He doesn’t think that’s actually surprising, given the fight with the Wyatts on Sunday night and then what happened on Monday.  He’s been out like a light every night since.  And of course Roman would miss it, that guy’s out the second his head hits a pillow and he stays like that until someone manages to shake him awake the next morning.  Or, in a few cases, until Dean pulls his hair and yells “IT’S MORNING!” right in his face.

So, that Wednesday night, Seth is sleeping lightly enough that the sounds from the bathroom nudge him out of sleep.  He blinks and looks around lazily, just able to make out the Roman-shaped lump on the other bed.  And then the noise starts again and he’s able to finally put it all together.

Crawling out from under the blankets, he shivers a little in the cold hotel room.  He pads across the carpet and stands outside the bathroom door, realizing from the light filtering out that it’s slightly ajar.  He pushes, carefully, already pretty sure of what he’s about to see. 

Dean’s back is slumped as he holds himself over the toilet, arms tensing as he dry heaves again.  Seth can just make out a raspy “Aw fuck,” under Dean’s breath as his friend tries to lift his head, nearly making it before heaving once again.  

Seth stands in the doorway, fingers still lightly touching the handle.   He’s not sure if he should proceed, if it’s okay for him to be seeing Dean like this.  Asking if Dean’s okay seems pointless, he’s dry heaving in a hotel bathroom, that faded black shirt he sleeps in soaked with sweat, and after everything else that’s happened lately, well, the answer is pretty obvious.

He retches once more, but this time Seth winces as he hears something come up, splashing into the water, Dean’s body rigid as it goes on.  This, at least, is something Seth can handle, he’s been to his fair share of bad shows with cheap booze.  He steps into the room, grimacing at the feel of the cold tile floor on bare feet as he crosses to kneel behind Ambrose, the cold spreading across his bare knees.  Seth pulls Dean’s hair back from his head, more for comfort than for any practical purposes.  He can feel Dean tense and for a second he’s sure he’s about to get an earful of patented Ambrose “I can take care of myself,” but if that was the plan it’s quickly ruined by another violent gag.

Dean takes a few deep breaths before sitting up, pulling away from Seth slightly and moving to sit up against the bathtub.  He rests his sweat-soaked face on the side, sighing at the cool feel against his cheek.

Seth puts down the lid and flushes the toilet before he turns on the sink, letting the water get as cold as it can.  Then he grabs for a clean, thin washcloth and soaks it in the icy water.  He turns back to Ambrose, kneeling down beside him and reaching out to dab the bit of spit and mess and still clinging to his chin.  He pauses after a moment, looking closely at dark spots on the cloth, then back to Dean’s mouth where he realizes that there’s still a mix of spit and what has to be blood clinging to the corner of his lips.

“Dean,” he says, grabbing his friend’s chin.  “What the hell…”

Dean looks up at him, eyes glazed and unfocused, beyond anything Seth’s seen before.  His hair is still soaked with sweat, though a few small pieces around his face and neckline are starting to curl.  “I told you guys the truth,” he says, voice low and more wrecked than usual.  “About Sunday night.  I told you…”

“I know,” Seth says.  “WE know.”

Dean reaches out and grabs hold of Seth’s wrist, pulling himself up until they’re face to face.  “No, you don’t.  You don’t know.”  He puts his other hand on Seth’s shoulder, grabbing and twisting at the fabric of his old Warped Tour shirt.  “Seth you don’t know what he made me see.”

Seth locks his eyes with Dean’s, trying to reassure him like he always does.  “Wyatt?  Dean, he’s messing with you.  He made you think all that weird stuff you told us.”

“It was real, Seth,” Dean says. “It was real and I can’t explain it and I don’t know what I did.”  He laughs harshly.  “Just the errand boy…”

“So you’re in here making yourself sick?” Seth asks, dabbing again at Dean’s chin before folding the cloth over and wiping it slowly along his sweat-covered face.

“I’m not doing this to myself,” Dean says, the bite crawling back into his voice.  “Past two nights, while you guys were asleep, I’m in here puking up blood.” He pushes Seth’s hand and the washcloth away from his face.   He tips forward, resting their foreheads together.  

 “Blood and who knows what else.”

Dean’s breathing through his mouth, his breath sour and acidic from the vomit, with the scent of something stale behind it, like he’s been sneaking cigarettes again.  Seth’s going to say something about that, or about Wyatt being a lunatic, or about how they’ve got to stay focused, or dammit, Dean, you could be bleeding internally you dumb bastard. But the worry in Dean’s eyes is so raw that Seth can see beneath it, see the need Dean keeps barely contained, sees how much all The Shield, their brotherhood, what it means to him.  See that he’s afraid of what Wyatt’s really trying to do, what he really wants to take from him.

Seth presses his mouth to Dean’s in a hard, sure kiss.

It isn’t like any of the girls he’s kissed.  And it’s not like the few other times he’s kissed guys: on a dare or in the scene where you just sometimes did that, no big deal, never seriously.  But with Dean it’s beyond serious. It’s like kissing pure chaos, a barely held-back power needing constant control, dangerous and familiar.

He feels Dean grab a handful of his hair and waits to be pulled away, for a “What the hell was THAT?”  But instead, Dean pulls him closer, twisting the hair he’s gripping just enough for Seth to feel it.  He kisses Seth again, quick and almost panicked, scraping his teeth along Seth’s bottom lip.  Seth wraps an arm around Dean’s back, steadying him as Dean kisses him again, this time testing his tongue against Seth’s lips.

Seth parts them, opening his mouth and sighing.  Dean’s still sour and smoky, he’s definitely hoarding cigarettes somewhere, but under that there’s something weirdly sweet, not sure if Dean’s been drinking something or if that taste is just naturally there.

They finally pull apart, both breathing hard as they stay frozen on the cold, sterile bathroom floor.  Finally, Seth reaches up and strokes some of Dean’s hair back from his face.  “Whether it was real or not,” he says, “it doesn’t matter.  Bray Wyatt doesn’t know you.  Me and Roman?  We do.  Okay?”

He takes Dean’s hand, holding it tightly.  “Believe.”  On pure instinct he pulls the clasped fists to his mouth, kissing the seam where they meet.

Dean nods, not quite in agreement, his eyes still dazed and a little lost.  Seth helps him stand, turns off the bathroom light and leads him to the empty hotel bed.  Once they’re both settled, Seth wraps a protective arm around Dean’s chest.  They’re never going to talk about it again.  He’s already sure of that fact.  It was just a thing that happened once.  Stupid and desperate and enough to make Seth realize how scared he is of what he stands to lose.

It isn’t until he’s sure Dean’s asleep that Seth can even close his eyes.


End file.
